


a court of wolves

by bullroars



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Barebacking, Coping, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Magic, Riding, Rough Sex, Sex as a distraction, Soul Bond, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 03:23:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9053185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bullroars/pseuds/bullroars
Summary: feyre, undercover in the spring court, has an argument with lucien that sets off her powers.  rhysand comes to help provide an alternative outlet for all that aggression, because he's a team player.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [metalbending](https://archiveofourown.org/users/metalbending/gifts).



> merry christmas and happy hanukkah to zoe, the light of my life, the fire of my heart, my sun and stars, etc etc. this has been such a crazy year and i'm so so happy that we're friends, AND that all it took to get you into ACoTaR was the mere concept of sexual biting. 
> 
> you're the best, girl.
> 
> for the sake of this piece--which is pretty much just floor fuckin'-- let's assume that a few weeks have passed since the king of hybern proved himself to be the Ultimate Dickhead. feyre has been living in tamlin's court, and she should really be commended for not burning it to the ground.

a court of wolves

 

The first time Tamlin left Feyre alone after Hybern, he didn't lock her in the house.  He didn't even post guards around her, or tell her she was confined to the manor grounds.  All of that, Feyre thought, was rather implied. 

She stayed inside anyway.  If she went outside, tasted the air and the sun, she might bolt into the sky and back to Velaris before she could stop herself, and that wasn't where she needed to be right now.  She needed to be here, finding out the King of Hybern's plans, sabotaging his forces, discovering how to tear the Spring Court apart from the inside. 

Feyre told this to herself half a hundred times as she paced up and down the empty manor, and it didn't help her calm down. 

 _I've been here for three weeks, and I don't have_ anything, she seethed.  Three weeks of clinging to Tamlin's arm, of shrinking at shadows and burying her power and not reaching out for Rhysand.  She didn't know how her sisters were.  She didn't know if Cassian was recovering.  She didn't know what Amren and Mor were planning and how Rhys was coping with their broken bargain, and Feyre didn't have anything to make the last three weeks worth it. 

Tamlin might believe that Rhys had forced Feyre to be with him, but he certainly didn't trust her.

 _Yet,_ she told herself, because she had to.  _He doesn't trust me yet._ Irritation made heat gather around her fingertips, swarm under the surface of her skin.  Feyre took a deep breath, and then another, and forced herself to calm down.  Blowing up and setting Tamlin's house on fire wouldn't solve anything. 

It would make her feel better, though.  She obviously couldn't rip into Tamlin, not yet, not even if he deserved it for allying with Hybern.  His house, on the other hand...

"You look like you're up to something," Lucien said behind Feyre, his voice cold. 

Feyre rounded on him, and smiled prettily.  "Lucien!  How are you?"  She didn't bother putting on a mask, bored or friendly or otherwise.  Lucien knew her too well to be fooled. 

"You can drop the act," Lucien growled.  His metal eye glittered.  "I'm not Tamlin.  I know you're up to something."

"What could I possibly be up to?"  Feyre said.  "I'm just talking a walk." 

Lucien's power spiked, raising the hair on Feyre's arms.  Some monstrous instinct roared at Feyre to flatten him—Lucien was a third son, a Court Emissary, and she was High Lady of the Night Court.  He should know better than to flash his fangs at her. 

Feyre pushed the instinct down, with some effort. 

"Don't lie to me," he said.  "I know you're working with Rhysand.  I was there in the forest, Feyre.  _I know what you are._ " 

Wings itched just underneath Feyre's shoulder blades.   

 _I know what you are too,_ she thought.  _My sister's mate._ She should crush him.  He's a _coward_ , a soft fool.  He wasn't of any use to Feyre, and he sure as hell wasn't worthy of Elain. 

(It was _betrayal_ that burned in Feyre's chest, whenever she looked at Lucien, a bone-deep hurt, a wound opened up in the Illyrian steppes that hadn't quite managed to heal over, but if she thought about any of that she'd tear him to pieces.)

Feyre took another deep breath.  "Go away, Lucien," she said flatly. 

"I don't think that I will," Lucien snapped back, taking a step closer.  "I'm not going to let you hurt Tamlin, Feyre.  I know he fucked up, and you have every right to be angry, but—"

Feyre's temper roared, and she lunged at Lucien before she could talk herself out of it.  She caught him around the waist and knocked him backwards, both of them toppling to the ground.  Lucien snarled and twisted, flipping Feyre over and going for her throat. 

Feyre gathered fire, fed it with her hurt, and let it go.  Flames wrapped themselves around her and Lucien jerked away, yelping in pain.  Feyre followed him, barreling into him, and then they were on the ground again. 

After that neither of them had an opening to end the fight with magic; they fought like wolves, snapping and snarling, each trying to draw the most blood.  Feyre's fingertips melted into vicious claws, and she sank them into Lucien's chest, his belly, any inch of him she could reach. 

By the time she had a clawed hand around his throat, they were both panting wildly and she was bleeding from a gash above her right eye.  Lucien bled from a dozen small wounds, and Feyre's power was so thick in the room that it hummed. 

"I'm going to tell Tamlin," Lucien gasped around her tightening fingers.  "You and Rhysand aren't going to win, Feyre, I won't let—"

"You won't do _anything,_ you coward," Feyre growled, and dug her claws in deeper.  She could have crushed him, wiped him away like an insect.  His mind wasn't even shielded—she could feel him, how easy it would be to slip into his skin, to _erase_ him.  She wouldn't, though.  "You don't have the _will._ You know that if you do _anything to_ ruin Rhysand's plans— _my_ plans—you'll never see your mate again." 

Lucien's good eye went dark, his fury extinguished, and Feyre would almost feel _bad_ for him if she wasn't two seconds away from snapping his neck.  She bared her teeth at his cowardice, at how easy he gave up.

"Get out of my sight," she spat.  "If you get in my way, I'll break your mating bond with Elain myself."  Feyre wouldn't, even though she currently thought Lucien wasn't worth the mud on Elain's shoes.  Lucien—Lucien was her friend, once, and he _was_ kind underneath his despair.  He'd made Feyre laugh once a long time ago, and for that she wouldn't turn him into a smear on the wall. 

Feyre _did_ consider it, though, and the dark part of her heart, the fierce part, snarled quietly.  She let Lucien up and he scrambles away, no doubt running off to lick his wounds.  He didn't look at Feyre as he goes. 

Smoke and cinders still curled around Feyre's feet, her power straining beneath her skin.  She felt—she felt like a hurricane, an earthquake, an avalanche.  Like she was holding the Book of Breathings again, and all the world was at her fingertips, ready to be torn apart.

 _Is this what Rhys feels like?_ she thought, struggling to bring herself back under control.  Tamlin—Tamlin didn't know the depths of Feyre's power.  He knew that she _had_ power now, everyone did.  But he seemed to think that it was a parlor trick, or a well; he seemed to think that Feyre's power was finite and easily contained, and not as bottomless and as wide as the ocean. 

It was to Feyre's advantage that he _didn't_ know, that none but her own Court knew.  If Tamlin knew, he'd try to lock Feyre up again, and she couldn't—wouldn't—endure that again, not if there were any other options. 

The walls of the manor trembled.  The air was thick and heavy.  Feyre's power twisted out of her, slipped through her fingers, through the walls she tried to trap it behind.  Wind moaned. 

 _I'm going to flatten the house,_ she realized, dimly.  _I'm going to turn it to rubble, and there's nothing I can do_ —

"Now Feyre, darling," Rhysand drawled, "I don't think Tamlin would appreciate that very much."

"Rhys," Feyre said.  The sight of him was—startling.  Feyre hadn't expected to see Rhys again until they were ready to go to war with Hybern.  She'd felt him, now and again, glimmers of him through the bond, but seeing him—

Rhysand was thinner than he'd been, the last time Feyre had seen him, more drawn, the angles of his face harsh and pronounced, but his shoulders were broad and bound with muscle.  His wings were hidden.  He must have winnowed in through Tamlin's wards. 

"Rhys," Feyre said again.  "Are you—What are you doing here?  Is everyone okay?"

"I'm here for you," Rhys said.  "And everyone's fine, Feyre." 

"My sisters?"  Feyre asked, searching Rhys's face.  "Cassian?  Azriel?"

"Everyone's alive," Rhys said.  "Your sisters are fine.  Cass and Az are—less, but they're alive.  Az is feeling well enough that we've had to post Amren outside his rooms like a prison guard to keep him from flying off after Hybern."

"And Cassian?"

A shadow flickered across Rhys's face.  "The healers say he might never fly again."

Tamlin's walls shivered around Feyre.  All of this was _Tamlin's_ fault. 

"We're not... entirely sure about Nesta, either," Rhys admitted.  He smiled crookedly.  "She's fine physically, both of them are.  Elain is High Fae, as far as we can tell.  But Nesta is—something else."

"But she's alright?  They're both okay?"

Rhys nodded.  "As far as we can tell, yes," he said.  "They're both going to live.  Mor's hidden them away somewhere—she won't tell me where—and spends most of her time with them, now that Azriel's recovering.  How are you?  Are you alright?  Has Tamlin—is he treating you well?"

Feyre shrugged.  The walls groaned and the ceiling creaked.  A tiny crack appeared near the chandelier, then another and another.  "He hasn't hurt me.  He's—trying, I think."  Not that Tamlin's newfound care made up for what he'd done, what he'd allowed into his Court. 

Rhysand raised an eyebrow.  "So it's not him you're mad at, then?  I felt you start to lose control all the way from Winter Court." 

"Winter Court?"

"That's as close as I can get," Rhys said, apologetic.  "Summer and Spring are closed to me, and Ianthe knows where your sisters lived, so Winter is the best I could do."

"You romantic fool," Feyre said, but the thought of Rhys hunkering down in some Court he didn't like just so he could be close to Feyre made her warm, and lessened the fury of the wind around them.

Rhysand grinned.  "That's me," he said.  "So who set you off?  You're very close to turning this house into matchsticks, darling.

"Lucien," Feyre said with a scowl.

"Lucien?  You shouldn't concern yourself with him," said Rhys.  "He's a rabbit running before a wolf."

"An irritating rabbit," Feyre said.  Thinking about Lucien made flames curl around her feet, and the house moaned again, every board and beam threatening to give out.

Rhys clucked his tongue.  "Destroying Tamlin's house isn't going to make him trust you, you know," he said.  "Do you need help relieving some tension?"

Rhys slipped into Feyre's head and showed her _exactly_ how he thought they might go about doing that, and Cauldron damn him, warmth started to pool in Feyre's belly. 

"We shouldn't," Feyre said, but she wanted him, she wanted him, her mate, her lover.  She'd been without him for too long now.  "The smell—"

"Can be erased," Rhysand said smoothly, and Feyre saw how much he wanted her too, felt how deeply he needed her. 

"The noise—"

"I can be quiet."  Rhys raised his eyebrows and winked, sauntering over to Feyre.  They hadn't touched until now.  They'd known that if they had, they would have left together, gone back to Velaris, and left the Spring Court in ruins behind them.  "Can you?"

"You'll just have to give me good reason to be," Feyre breathed, and closed the space between them. 

Rhysand's hands were warm.  His lips were warm.  His cock, hardening against Feyre's thigh, was warm, and she felt herself growing wet thinking about having him inside her.

"Naughty girl," Rhysand murmured. He pressed a chaste kiss to Feyre's lips and, at her hungry growl, rolled his hips against hers.  "How often have you thought of me?"

"Vain boy," Feyre murmured back. "How do you know I've been thinking of you at all?"

"Ouch," said Rhysand, and his eyes were wide and dark.  He slipped a hand under the band of Feyre's pants, his long fingers teasing.  "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were trying to goad me, Feyre."

Feyre angled her hips to give Rhys better access, arching her neck and batting her eyelashes.  "Now what would that achieve?"  she said, but the allure of it was ruined as Rhys, finding her wet, slipping a finger inside of her easily.  Feyre's breath caught in her throat. 

"You tell me," said Rhysand.  The chandelier trembled, crystals clinking, as Feyre's power expanded.  The windows creaked.

"I'm not really in the mood for teasing," Feyre admitted, leaning up to mouth at Rhysand's jaw.  He groaned, slotting their hips together, and they spent the next few minutes frantically rutting together, Rhys's cock sliding over Feyre's rapidly-soaking pants.  The heat and the pressure were good, but not nearly good enough.

"Rhys," Feyre gasped.  "I'm ready, come on.  Fuck me.  I want—I need to feel you."

Rhys, his pupils blown, only nodded.  He helped Feyre kick off her pants, then fumbled with his own while Feyre shucked off her shirt and pressed her hands to Rhys's chest.  Her tattoo matched his own, and Rhys growled. 

"Feyre," he said, and nudged her down. 

 _We're going to fuck on the floor,_ she thought, dizzy with lust. 

 _We're going to fuck_ through _the floor,_ Rhys corrected, covering Feyre's body with his own. 

"Come on," Feyre said, wrapping a hand around Rhys's thick cock and guiding it to her cunt.  "Come on, Rhysand."

"Impatient," Rhys huffed.  Feyre's power swelled, pushing against the walls.  There was nowhere for it to go. 

Rhys entered Feyre gently, slowly, one inch at a time.  Feyre groaned, some dislocated part of her snapping back into place, and reached out for Rhysand, wanting more.

Rhys caught both of her wrists in his hands and pressed them to the floor, pinning them over Feyre's head.  "Ah ah," he _tsked,_ still entering her so slowly she thought that she would die before he was fully seated.  Her cunt ached, and Feyre moaned.

"It's been weeks," Rhysand said firmly.  Feyre wanted to bite him, to scratch him, to knock him over and ride his cock until they both were spent.  Heat rolled off of her in waves, Autumn's gift, ever-hungry.  "I'm going to enjoy myself."

 _"Rhysand,_ " Feyre hissed, bucking her hips, trying to get more of him. 

Rhys, damn him, only pressed in another inch, grinning.  "So it's Rhysand again, is it?  What happened to Rhys?  To _my perfect, wonderful mate?_ "

"My perfect, wonderful mate," Feyre growled through gritted teeth.  Rhys's grip on her wrists was so strong she could feel bruises forming and healing every time she tried to twist free.  "If you don't fuck me properly, I'm going to kill you." 

Sweat gleamed on Rhysand's chest and his thighs were trembling with the effort of holding himself back, but he still didn't fuck into Feyre like she wanted him to.  Feyre felt like she was going to die.  She needed—she wanted—

"If you want me to fuck you properly," Rhys panted, eyes gleaming, "you'll have to _make me._ "

That was enough to break what little control Feyre had left.  She lashed out, fire and ice and light and darkness, bucking to get out of Rhysand's grip.  He let go, laughing, the bastard, and Feyre twisted, locking her ankles around his back and pulling him closer.

Finally, _finally_ Rhysand was buried inside Feyre properly, and he laughed again, breathless. 

"See?"  he said.  "That's better.  All you had to do was—"

Rhysand still wasn't fucking Feyre, not really.  He circled his hips a little, bent to run a tongue over one of her nipples, pressed his hands into her hips, but it wasn't enough. 

" _Prick,_ " Feyre hissed, and flipped them.  Rhys made a startled noise that morphed into a groan when Feyre straddled him, the new position driving his cock deeper into her cunt.  Feyre pinned his shoulders to the floor—Tamlin's floor, now covered with cinders and scratches and sweat—and showed him all her teeth. 

"Where," Rhys panted, hips twitching, "did you learn to do that?"

"Cassian," Feyre said, purposefully coy. 

Their mating bond was weeks old, now, but Rhysand still growled at the thought of another male near his mate, teaching his mate. 

 _Good,_ thought Feyre, adjusting her hips so that she felt every inch of Rhysand's cock. They both shivered.  Rhys tried to rise, one hand skimming up Feyre's back, gentle and sweet, but Feyre didn't _want_ gentle and sweet.  She didn't want tenderness.  She wanted—

She wanted—

Feyre pushed Rhys back down with enough force that the walls shook, letting her nails melt into claws, and growled at him.  Rhys growled right back, his pupils blown, only a thin ring of violent showing in his eyes, and Feyre felt claws prick at her own back. 

Thighs shaking, Feyre lifted herself up and dropped back down.  Friction sparkled up her spine and pooled in her belly.  Rhys moaned. 

"Feyre," he said raggedly, claws digging into her back.  "Feyre, let me—let me touch you, let me—"

"No," Feyre said, and lifted herself up again.  She set a brutal pace, bouncing on Rhysand's cock, chasing the sparks in her belly.  Rhys's claws grounded her, scratching red lines into her back, her hips, her sides, and Feyre left marks of her own across his shoulders, through his tattoos. 

"That's it," she panted.  Rhys was moving his hips to meet her now, all thoughts of slow and gentle gone.  Their power danced and swirled, filling the room with shadows and light.  The walls were shaking, furniture creaking, unable to hold Feyre and Rhysand's combined power.  "Just like that, Rhys, come on—"

"Feyre," Rhys said again, and he was close, Feyre could feel it.  "Feyre," he said, and came.  Her grip on his shoulders slipped, and Rhys took the opportunity to surge upwards, sinking his teeth into the soft spot between Feyre's neck and shoulder. 

Feyre came the moment his teeth met skin, lightning surging through her body, and she let go of her magic.  Light washed over Tamlin's house, and Feyre collapsed on top of Rhysand. 

The wind died down.  Rhys's hands, clawless again, came to rest against the base of her spine, tracing patterns.  Feyre hummed against his neck.  Sweat cooled between their bodies, and Feyre felt Rhys's cock twitch inside of her, interested. 

She groaned.  "You're six hundred years old," she said.  "Shouldn't you need to take a nap first?"

"Mating bond," Rhys said, sounding disgustingly pleased first.  "And don't act like you're not ready to go again as well, darling."

Feyre smiled.  "Romance is dead," she told him. 

Rhysand's hands cradled her hips, heavy with intent.  "Lust-filled trysts in your enemy's house aren't romantic?"  he asked. 

Feyre huffed.  "What about Lucien?  What about—Cauldron boil me, what about the maids?  The guards? They must have heard us."

"Everyone," Rhys said smugly, "is taking a very deep, very restful nap.  They'll wake when I'm gone and we've put the house back together."

"The house—?"  Feyre looked around and saw that most of the furniture in this room was splinters.  Rhysand had torn deep gouges into the floor.  Feyre had left handprints burned into the wallpaper, and the room smelled like sex and fire. 

 _We should go to Tamlin's bedroom next,_ she thought, and Rhys laughed. 

"That might be taking it too far, love," he said.  "But we can fuck through this wall, if you like."  He shifted, gathering his legs underneath him so that he could stand, and he picked Feyre up with him.  She wrapped her legs around his back.  His softened cock slid out of her, but Feyre knew he'd be hard and ready in a few minutes.  Rhys pressed her up against the wall, mirth sparkling in his eyes. 

"What do you say?"  he murmured.  "Should we fuck until Tamlin walks through the door?"

Feyre showed Rhys all of her teeth again, hungry, hungry, hungry.  "We can try," she murmured, and kissed Rhysand.  He groaned into her mouth. 

"Tamlin has no idea what he's let into his house," Rhys said, bringing a hand between their bodies to rub Feyre's clit.  She shuddered, oversensitive, and ground down on his hand.  "You're going to eat him alive, aren't you?"

"Only if I don't eat _you_ first," Feyre said, and Rhysand laughed and leaned in for another kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> er, just some notes, i _do_ like lucien and even tamlin as characters. i'm a bit furious with lucien and more than a bit with tamlin, hence feyre's frustration with both of them. 
> 
> happy holidays!! i can't wait for wings and ruin to fuck me up


End file.
